


Aspiring Fires (You’ll Get Put Out If You Don’t Get A Little Higher)

by Angelsandstardust



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I may or may not be self projecting here, Implications of emotionally/verbally abusive parents, Mark is a bit of a jerk but he means well, Me over analyzing characters? It’s more likely than you think, Minor mentions of religion, Minor mentions of sexual stuff related to canon, No betas we die like Kenny, One Shot, Post monkey fonics, Protective Siblings, Self depreciation, They're smart kids they say a lot of fancy words, gifted child burnout, spelling bees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28322370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelsandstardust/pseuds/Angelsandstardust
Summary: Spelling bees are a stressful time for all, especially for the overachieving Rebecca Cotswolds.
Relationships: Estella Havisham & Gregory of Yardale, Rebecca Cotswolds & Mark Cotswolds, Rebstella, Slight Rebecca Cotswolds/Estella Havisham
Kudos: 4





	Aspiring Fires (You’ll Get Put Out If You Don’t Get A Little Higher)

**Author's Note:**

> There aren’t enough fics about the Cotswolds kids, so I decided to rectify that. I apologize in advance if anyone seems OOC, it’s not easy writing characters who only appeared in one episode. I tried to stay as close to canon as I could while incorporating my own take on what they would be like when they’re older.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

_You are worthless. You are a c_ _harlatan._ _A farce. A f_ _raud. How did you ever think you could do this?_

Rebecca swept a hand back through her voluptuous shoulder-length curls, gripping them in a tense hold as stared at the myriad of spelling mistakes that littered the page of her notebook. Dark, incriminating smudges smeared both the paper and her hand as she viciously scribbled over them, berating herself harshly for the mistakes.

Misspelled. Rebecca Cotswolds, the spelling prodigy of South Park had misspelled. It was unheard of! It was a cardinal sin! She may as well be burning the holy bible and spitting in the face of God, it was that blasphemous!

_You’re a disgrace, an absolute disgrace. You can’t do anything right. Stop squandering your talents, not everyone is as privileged as you are._

She sighed and promptly tore the page out, pitching it into the overflowing wastebasket where a pile had already amassed. The brunette bit down on her lip, worrying it between her teeth as she stared at the vocabulary words she hadn't desecrated and tried to cover up with ink. Just the mere thought of having to accurately pronounce them on a stage made her stomach churn with apprehension. Her anxiety was a hindrance akin to kryptonite, it stripped her of the confidence she had built up over the years and reduced her to a stuttering awkward mess at the worst moments.

There was a time when Rebecca would hardly bat an eye at such a challenge. She had always been adept at spelling, the plethora of awards she collected over the years was a testament to that fact. While Mark flourished in academics, spelling was her forte. She effortlessly surpassed other students at her grade level and beyond, winning every award. The ninth-grade competition was where she had to bring her A-game. She had almost aged the limit to compete, she had to win, her reputation was at stake. Losing was not an option she would even consider.

_You are going to lose and everyone will hate you more than they already do._

Rebecca groaned, thumping her head against the wall to stifle the incessant voice that had taken up residence inside her head. With renewed conviction, she tried again, determined to prove herself wrong and appease the stupid voice admonishing her every move. The small ember of hope that sparked was immediately snuffed out once she compared the answers. She felt her heart sink into the depths of her stomach as she stared at the misspelled word, giving rise to the voice that rung hollowly throughout her mind like a screeching banshee.

_Failure._

_Failure._

**_Failure._ **

Disappointment quickly yielded to anger, in a blind rage she forcefully slammed her notebook shut and launched it across the room. Papers scattered as it collided against the wall below the window, landing in a heap on the carpeted floor. The brunette glared after it, the inferior thing’s mere existence mocking and conspiring against her. She might have gone as far as tearing it in two had a familiar voice not spoken up, ending her small episode before it could escalate any further.

“Something wrong, dear sister?”

Rebecca was startled by the sound, letting out a small yelp of surprise. Skittishly, she turned to find her older brother staring at her from the doorway with a curious expression. She could just barely make out the title of the book tucked under his arm: Les Miserables, Mark always did prefer the classics.

”I-I wasn’t expecting you to be back yet...” She wrung her hands together, flashing a meek smile towards him. ”How was the book club, brother?”

While she was internally grateful none of their parents walked in on her, she knew she had still been caught. Their parents scolded her countless times about going into Mark’s room when he wasn't home, not that she ever listened. It was her sanctuary away from the stifling prison-like bars situated outside her window. She was fifteen years old and their parents still insisted on keeping her shut-in and locked away from the world. Like Rapunzel in her tower, she languished in her cell with only her books and studies to entertain her, waiting for the day a knight in shining armor would come to rescue her from the prison that was to be considered home. But, they never came, fairytales weren't real. She soon came to realize that there would never be a handsome prince to scale the side of her tower and whisk her away from everything into happily ever after. The only boy who ever came close had forgotten about her years ago. No one else had cared since. Such was the unfortunate life of Rebecca Cotswolds.

Mark gave an indifferent shrug in response to the question. He had grown accustomed to the younger teen’s intrusions by now, welcoming the company she provided without further complaint. “Something came up, so we had to postpone our meeting. I don’t imagine most of them have even gotten past Bishop Myriel," he scoffed, moving past her to sit at his desk.

“Isn’t that the first quarter of the book—?”

“Exactly,” he answered, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “Most people just don’t appreciate literature nowadays. It's such a shame, perhaps To Kill A Mockingbird would’ve been more suitable given the blatant racism of this town. Ah, never mind that. How is the studying going?”

“Terrible, I’m not getting anywhere with it.”

“I assumed just as much,” he said dryly, raising a brow at the discarded notebook in the corner.

Rebecca groaned and started to pace around the room, gesticulating wildly as she monologued her frustrations and inner strife. “I've been trying for an hour now and I still can't get any of this right! How do they expect children to spell this stuff when full-grown adults can’t even do it?! It’s unethical, not to mention inhumane! I’m going to humiliate myself in front of hundreds, if not thousands of people and it will just snowball from there! I’ll end up flunking all of my classes and getting kicked out of high school, my future as a neurosurgeon will go down the drain, along with all of my hopes and aspirations. Soon I’ll be scrapping the bottom of the barrel for dead-end jobs that never go anywhere! My whole life will go downhill all because I couldn’t properly spell chiaroscurist! You know what? _Fuck_ spelling bees and _fuck_ all of the goddamn parents who subject their children to them just so they can feel good about themselves because they failed in life!"

Rebecca froze, realizing what she said far too late as she hastily slapped a hand over her mouth. Mark raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the outburst, almost as if he had been expecting it. Rebecca, on the other hand, was mortified, a deep red flushed across her cheeks to match her signature barrettes.

”Oh gosh, I didn’t mean to say that! I was just so frustrated, it-it slipped out!“ Her voice pitched shrill as she turned to him in a panic, owlish eyes pleading to a passive green. “Please don’t tell anyone I said such obscenities or spoke poorly of mama and papa! I don't want to get punished again."

An amused smile flickered across the other brunette’s face at her distress. “If you want to avoid suspicion then perhaps you shouldn’t be yelling so loudly. Unless that is the goal, then keep going and you'll surely accomplish it.”

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed at him. “Don't patronize me, Mark, this is serious! Bebe invited me to her party this weekend. Seniors rarely want to be seen around freshmen, let alone invite them to parties! It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity that I can’t afford to miss out on because I got grounded. Promise you’ll keep this between us, any hope of me having a social life is at stake here!”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Relax, will you? I was just teasing. There’s no need for dramatics, no one else is home besides us anyway. Although, I still don’t understand why you want to involve yourself in such frivolous matters. They’re not as thrilling as they seem, why you can’t even have an intelligent conversation without it devolving into petty gossip and teenage drama.” He scoffed derisively. “Most of our peers are nothing more than addle-brained simpletons. Their thoughts revolve solely around two things: getting a lay and underage drinking. I could do without it.”

“It’s not _about_ the conversation!” She stressed. “It’s about fitting in and building a better reputation. Before, I was just that weird homeschooled kid, and I could live with that. I still had a future, I was fine being a nobody until Kyle came along and changed everything. Now, all I’m known for is my promiscuous behavior at the dance all those years ago. That’s not who I am, I don’t want to be defined by a lapse in judgment I had when I was too young to know better. Our name is soiled because of my actions, if I don’t nip this in the bud now, I fear it’ll always haunt me.”

Mark set his book aside and took off his reading glasses with a sigh, now giving her his full undivided attention. “Don’t give yourself all of the credit, we were always seen as social pariahs. Hell, our parents are practically afraid of their own shadows, why else do you think they kept us cooped up in here? You don’t have to go out of your way to impress everyone, Bec. It’s redundant, nothing you do will ever be enough for them, they will still scorn and ridicule you regardless. People tend to cling to the smallest, most trivial things in this backward town. In fact, I still can’t leave the house without hearing some smart remark involving duct tape or benches.” The brunette’s face darkened at the memory, his lip curling with contempt. “You learn to bear it, words only have as much power as you give them.”

“Maybe that works for you, but I’m tired of turning the other cheek and pretending it doesn’t bother me when it obviously does. I just want to be seen as normal...” Rebecca sank down on the bed, huddling her knees against her chest. “I’m not as strong as you, I can’t just ignore the stares and whispers, I care what people think of me..!”

The silence that followed hung heavily in the air between them. Mark frowned and stared down at his lap, engaging in a silent battle with his own inner demons, one he would not voice. Unlike Rebecca, who often wore her heart on her sleeve, he didn’t have that luxury, he wasn’t able to show vulnerability to others. Being the eldest sibling by two years, he had to be the pillar that held up both of them, even if that meant bottling up his own emotions until he could no longer handle the strain of them. 

“The girls made a new list,” Rebecca’s soft, tremulous voice interrupted his thoughts. Her lip quivered as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded-up piece of stationary. Wordlessly, she handed it to him.

Mark unfolded the paper and stared at the list of names written with a sparkly gel pen. In large bold letters and underlined with doodles of hearts and cartoonish kissy faces was the title:

_SLUTTIEST GIRLS IN SCHOOL <3_

Just one glance made him ill, to his dismay and outrage his little sister was written in at the top below the infamous Tammy Warner.

“They compared me to the girl who hands out blowjobs like candy,” Rebecca whimpered. “I’ve never even been intimate! I grabbed Token’s butt and-and said some risqué things, but I haven’t done anything inappropriate since I swear!”

Mark bristled as he analyzed the list, his brow furrowing with equal parts indignation and anger on her behalf. “Who’s the Regina George who orchestrated this? I would like to have a word with them in _private_.”

She sighed and shook her head. "As much as I appreciate you wanting to fight on my behalf, it’ll only make it worse if they start thinking I can’t defend myself. That’s why I want to go to the party, I know the only reason I was invited was to be humiliated like Carrie White at the prom, but…it’s an opportunity to prove them wrong, I’d be a fool not to take it.”

“You’d be just as much of a fool to willingly go and let them humiliate you!” He countered heatedly.

“You’re twisting my words-“

“Listen to yourself! Do you honestly think it’ll make a difference?! God, you’re still so naive, you have no idea what they’re capable of or the lengths they’ll go to make you look stupid!”

Rebecca’s gaze hardened into a defiant glare as she met his fierce stare and held it. “Your experiences aren’t universal, stop acting like you know what's best for me," she growled. "I’m not a child anymore, I can think for myself!”

For a fleeting moment, Mark looked hurt by the accusation before his anger returned to mask it. “You’re too impulsive, Rebecca! That’s why our parents don’t let you make your own decisions. You don’t think things through, you just blindly act on a whim. If you had just stopped to consider the repercussions, you could've avoided all of this."

"I was eight! I didn't even know what a kiss was, let alone love. I made a mistake! You've made plenty of them, so why can't I? Let me make my own mistakes! You said it yourself, we won’t learn otherwise.”

Mark huffed, checkmated by his own words. He carded a hand back through his hair, trying to subdue his growing aggravation and contempt for the situation. “Why is the approval of some people you barely know so important to you?! In a few years, this will be nothing more than a bad memory. Of course, it's only inevitable that they come begging to you for help, but they'll get their comeuppance when you turn your back on them. Consider it poetic justice for all of the hell they put you through."

Rebecca looked aghast by the idea, her eyes widening in horror. “No! I-I’m not petty enough to deny medical care to someone in desperate need of it, Mark! I want to help people, not hurt them, no matter how poorly they’ve treated me...” She averted her gaze, tucking a curl behind her ear. “I just want to be accepted instead of tolerated.”

“Is that why you’re continuing to compete in the competition? Or are you just a glutton for punishment?” Mark pressed, his jaw tightening rigidly.

“It’s not that—“

“Then what?! My god, Bec, I know how miserable it makes you, don’t even try to deny it! What I can’t fathom is why you insist on going through with this every year. No one is forcing your hand, mother and father have long since moved on from showing us off in those damn competitions like show dogs. Yet, you continue to subject yourself to these things. Why is that?”

“...”

Rebecca shrunk back under the scrutiny of his gaze, ashamed of the answer. The chain of her pendant found its way between her teeth as she took it into her mouth; a nervous habit she had picked up in lieu of the constant tapping and clapping of her hands.

Mark’s face softened. “Rebecca,” he chided her gently. “Take that out of your mouth, it’s unsanitary.”

She released it on command, letting the chain drop back around her neck. “I just have to, Mark. Y-you, don’t understand, I need to prove myself to them. They need to see that I’m not the irresponsible person they think of me as."

She hugged her knees tighter, resting her chin against them. She could feel his sympathetic gaze, causing her face to burn with shame as she began to choke up and fumble her words. “...I thought that if I continued to win competitions, t-then maybe they’d finally let go of what happened instead of constantly looking down at me over it. I don’t want mama and papa to be ashamed of me anymore.”

Rebecca furiously wiped at her eyes, feeling them begin to sting and blur with unshed tears. “I’m tired of being the screw up who got a small taste of freedom and squandered it over a kiss of all things. I try so hard to make up for it, but nothing is ever good enough, I just want to wipe the slate clean, but that one act of indecency is permanently stained on my record! I know I could've avoided this, but I was stupid and reckless...you're right, I did this to myself, I don't deserve sympathy or even pity. I'm...filthy, even God is ashamed of me."

Mark stared at her in the ensuing silence that followed, all lingering traces of anger thoroughly extinguished by the sheer look of anguish on her face. He sighed as he lowered himself down beside her, resting a firm yet hesitant hand on her shoulder.

"You're not filthy or sinful or whatever lies you tell yourself, Rebecca. There were...extenuating circumstances that played a factor in what happened. You're far more intelligent than you give yourself credit for, I know you wouldn't have done any of that had you known it was wrong. Our parents shouldn't absolve themselves of the blame either, they kept us sheltered in that bubble for years. We both should've known about these things long beforehand, but no one bothered to teach us, so how could we learn? I can’t deny my part in it either, I should’ve spoken up sooner. I thought it was normal to live in such a manner, I was naive and conditioned to believe what they told us without question. I’m sorry, Bec, I could’ve prevented the pain you’re feeling right now.”

Rebecca gave him a wry smile, silent tears spilling over her pale cheeks. “You don’t have to apologize for my actions, but I appreciate it nonetheless.” 

She sniffed and rubbed her face with the sleeve of her sweater; it was looser than the tight-fitting shirts and modest dresses her parents made her wear that buttoned to the neck and nearly suffocated her. The teens' entire upbringing would be considered normal if they lived in the 1950s rather than the 21'st century; both Florence and Elijah Cotswolds' ideals and parenting skills were horribly outdated and their children were the ones who suffered for it: Mark had grown into a jaded cynic who considered everyone to be inferior and beneath him. He only valued his talents and aspirations above all else in his hollow pursuit for knowledge and fulfillment. Rebecca too had lost the innocent wonder of the world that all children possess. She strived for perfection, trying so desperately to meet the unrealistic expectations that were placed upon her. She had become a people pleaser and a proverbial doormat to impress anyone that crossed her path.

The sight of her openly crying in front of him only caused Mark’s chest to tighten with guilt. He quickly took her into his arms, embracing the shorter brunette tightly while hoping it was enough to console her. Rebecca fervently returned the hug, tremulous hands grasping the back of his turtleneck and firmly clinging to it as bitter tears soaked through the material. The metaphorical dagger that had found its way into his chest cavity twisted painfully with each sob and whimper that escaped her.

 _Just one more year_ , Mark reminded himself. Once he was eighteen they would leave South Park and never turn back. No one would hurt her again, not if he could help it. 

He sighed. “I should apologize,” he told her solemnly, his voice ripe with remorse. “I let you shoulder the blame because I couldn’t accept my own failure. As your older brother, I’m supposed to protect you, and I couldn’t do that. I was too caught up in trying to gain acceptance from the other boys, I didn’t notice that you were going through your own tribulations. I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

“You’re here now,” she reminded him, her voice muffled mildly against his shoulder.

“There’s more I can do. If you still want to take part in this competition, let me help you. Just know that you shouldn’t need an award to earn our parents' affection, it’s ridiculous that they would even be that shallow. Don’t burn yourself out striving towards their unrealistic expectations, it’s not worth it in the end, believe me.”

“But, I embarrassed them...”

“Please,” he scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “I’ve seen far worse, Cartman once invited most of the school over to his house to witness him receiving fellatio from Kyle. What you did is insignificant in comparison.”

Rebecca wrinkled her nose in revulsion. “That’s disgusting, why would he even do that-?"

“I have a working theory, one that involves a superiority complex and repressed feelings of homosexuality, but I digress. Fortunately, he didn’t get the chance to do whatever perverted thing he had planned, although I have no doubt he would’ve forced him into it.” He shuddered at the thought with a slight grimace. “I’m not sure why I even bothered to attend such an event, although it did open my eyes to the true stupidity of this town. You don’t want to lower yourself to their level, it’ll cost more than just your dignity.”

Rebecca chewed her lip, considering his words. “I suppose you’re right,” she said softly, a ghost of a smile on her face. “I still want to compete though, it would be a waste of my talent not to, spelling is the one thing I’m good at.”

Her smile faltered, fading shortly afterward. “At least, I thought I was good at it…”

Mark squeezed her shoulder. “You’re overthinking this is all. You know the words, you’re just psyching yourself out and it’s causing you to trip up. Have a little more confidence in yourself and your abilities.”

He retrieved her overturned notebook from the floor, gathering up the pages that had fallen out. “Let’s start with the standard vocabulary you already know, then we’ll work our way up to something more complex once you’ve familiarized yourself with the routine. Does that sound okay?”

Rebecca perked up a little. “That’s not a bad idea.”

Mark nodded, rejoining her. “Warming up is good practice, that should go without saying.” He thought for a moment, “spell conscientious.”

She scoffed. “That’s easy.”

“You should have no problem spelling it then.”

“C-O-N-S-C-I-E-N-T-I-O-U-S,” she replied with a roll of her eyes, smiling despite herself.

“Precocious,” Mark said.

“P-R-E-C-O-C-I-O-U-S,” she recited automatically without a hint of hesitation.

"Very good," He praised with a nod. The next twenty minutes were spent listing out words, which she would then spell without difficulty. Everything seemed to be going smoothly until they reached one of the terms she was practicing earlier.

“Chiaroscurist.”

Rebecca stiffened as if she had been splashed by cold water, her newfound confidence wavering. “D-definition?”

“An artist who uses the arrangement or treatment of the light and dark parts in a pictorial work of art.”

Her eyes drifted to the carpeted flooring in trepidation as she played with the edge of her long flowing skirt. “Can you u-use it in a sentence?”

“The chiaroscurist deftly conveyed the mood in black and white.”

“...”

“Take a deep breath,” Mark told her, sensing her unease. “You can do this.”

Rebecca nodded and closed her eyes, inhaling then letting it out slowly. “Chiaroscurist...C-H-I-A-R-O-S-C-U-R-I-S-T-?” She cracked open an eye to look at him for assurance. “Is...is that right?”

He smiled and nodded, showing her the page. Rebecca stared at it, disbelief evident on her face.

"I-I did it...?” Her eyes widened in realization once it finally registered, a huge grin blossoming across her cheeks. "I did it!" She squealed elatedly, launching herself at him in a joyful embrace. “Oh, thank you, Mark! You’re the best, big brother!”

Although caught off guard at first, Mark returned the hug, a small bubble of laughter escaping him. “You're going to blow away the competition, they may as well step down now to spare themselves the humiliation. I'm sure the others will be impressed when you flaunt your victory over them at Bebe's party."

Rebecca frowned and averted her eyes. “About that-" she began.

“Are you reconsidering going?"

"They'll hate me regardless of what I do, why should I give them more ammunition?"

Mark sighed, his hand finding purchase on her shoulder once more. "While I’m relieved you changed your mind, I don't want to discourage you from making friends, Rebecca. That's not my intention, I just don't want you to make friends with the wrong people. If you have to constantly go out of your way to impress someone, then they’re not worthy of your time or effort. You need to find people who will accept you for who you are; they’re rare, but they exist once you look past the more obvious social circles.”

She nodded, a small smile playing across her lips. “I think I understand now. Thanks, Mark.”

”Of course, dear sister, no one wants to see you succeed more than I. Now, shall we C-O-N-T-I-N-U-E?” He asked with a knowing smirk.

”Y-E-S,” she giggled.

———————

“And that concludes the 22nd annual South Park spelling bee!”

Rebecca swallowed back the lump in her throat, wiping her sweaty palms off on her skirt. Her heart raced as she peered out at the vast audience before her, she was surprised by the turnout. Spelling bees weren't exactly exciting or entertaining in the slightest, especially to the denizens of South Park; whose only interests seemed to revolve around sports, drinking, and just about anything they could make a profit off of. More than likely they were betting on the winners again, the thought only tightened the knot that had grown in her stomach. She hoped she wouldn’t let anyone down or cost them their well-earned money.

The brunette’s anxiety only seemed to spike upon spotting her parents amongst the crowd, looking impatient as they waited for the announcement. She knew they anticipated having another shiny trophy to polish and admire and hoped she wouldn’t disappoint again. She held her breath while the contenders for first place were announced, the names barely registered in her frazzled mind, until she heard her own followed by the overzealous hooting and hollering in celebration of a well-placed bet. Rebecca’s eyes widened, she stood stark still for a moment before forcing herself to move forward to claim her prize. Flashing a brief smile for the multiple flashes of cameras, she quietly thanked the mayor and scurried off the stage.

She was in a daze as she stepped down and met her parents, accepting their empty songs of praise and congratulatory hugs that didn’t last nearly as long as she would’ve liked. Within minutes they had left her, saying they would reconvene in the car. As the other parents filed out with their children in tow, Rebecca considered the trophy in her hands; it was moderately large and relatively nice to look at, 1st place engraved neatly into the gold plaque at the base. She could see her reflection within the metal.

 _You’ll never be good enough for them_ , her mind reminded her, instantly souring her mood. _Why do you even try?_

A hand fell upon her shoulder, jostling her out of her self deprecating thoughts. She looked up to meet the smiling face of her brother, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"A hollow victory, isn't it?" he mused aloud. "You accomplished what you set out to do, yet it still doesn't feel like enough."

Rebecca was almost convinced he was telepathic, Mark always seemed to know what was on her mind.

"How did you know?"

Mark let out a sardonic laugh. “I’m familiar with the feeling, you could say we're well acquainted."

“I was just hoping they would-“ she trailed off mid-thought, heaving another despondent sigh. “I know it's stupid, you don't have to tell me. I shouldn’t dwell on it any longer.”

“ _So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past,"_ he cited with a sad smile. "You saw it through, Bec. Take some pride in that, you were phenomenal." He squeezed her shoulder. “Try not to take too long, you know papa hates keeping the car running for long.”

She nodded, promising she would catch up soon, and watched him make his way to the exit.

“Congratulations on winning first place,” another voice spoke, its distinctive accent separating it from the rest. Rebecca turned, spotting a girl dressed in a rather expensive-looking school uniform. Her blonde hair was swept back into a high ponytail, framing sharp emerald eyes that had the brunette set in their crosshairs.

“I must admit your skills are impressive for such a lowly commoner,” she continued, examining her finely manicured nails haughtily.

Rebecca blinked, offhanded by the backside compliment. “Um, thanks...I think.”

“I’m Estella Havisham.” The blonde extended her hand towards her, Rebecca stared at it for a moment before shaking it.

“Rebecca Cotswolds.”

“Hm, how fitting. Your name is as bland as you are,” Estella said tepidly. “You’re the homeschooled girl, correct?”

“Well, formerly. I go to public school now.” She shifted her feet, preparing for the onslaught of ridicule that often surrounded her reputation, but it never came. “...I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, are you new in town?”

“Relatively speaking. I moved here from England a few months ago to live with an acquaintance of mine.” Estella nodded towards a boy with blond curly hair who was currently conversing with Mark. Rebecca followed her gaze, her eyes lighting up in recognition.

“You know Gregory?”

Estella gave a curt nod. “Indeed, since I was a child. We exchanged letters for quite some time after he moved, now we’re both attending Yardale together.”

“So, you’re close?”

“You could say that.”

“He seems nice, we only spoke a few times in passing. He and my brother are friends. As they say ‘it’s a small world after all,’” the other gave an awkward giggle.

“I suppose,” Estella said brusquely, her arms crossed.

“Um..” Rebecca chewed her lip, rocking back and forth on her heels as she tried to keep the conversation from fizzling out, as one-sided as it was. “Congratulations on winning second place. Y-you’re really good—“

”Estella!” A voice called out, carrying an impatient undertone to it. Both girls turned in the direction it stemmed from to see Gregory waiting near the main door with his arms crossed, tapping his foot expectantly. “Get that girl’s number and come along already! We’re going to be late!”

Estella scowled and held up her middle finger, promptly flipping him off.

“I must go now,” she resigned, but not before seizing the brunette’s hand and quickly writing something down on it before she could pull away.

Rebecca blinked, then stared down at her hand in astonishment. Her heart skipped a beat, a phone number was written there, not one of those phony ones people gave out as a prank either, but a real genuine phone number. She would have squealed if she weren’t so stupefied by the revelation. 

“It would be nice to acquaint myself with another intellectual, rather than the doltish scum who inhabit this festering cesspool of a town,” said blonde explained with her usual air of indifference. “I look forward to hearing from you. Until then, Rebecca Cotswolds.” There was a hint of a smile on her face as she turned on her heel and glided away.

Rebecca blinked again, coming out of her trance as she left. “O-oh. Uh, bye!”

She stared after the blonde’s retreating form in incredulous awe. Estella’s skirt billowed out around her with a flourish, her long golden hair flowing gracefully down her back as she elegantly made her exit, taking Gregory by the arm and walking out. Rebecca gazed at the award she was still holding, feeling a renewed sense of pride and accomplishment. She smiled to herself, a light blush tinting her cheeks as she thought about her brief encounter with the girl and the numbers inked on her skin that would soon become a staple in both her heart and her phone.

Maybe spelling bees weren’t so bad after all.


End file.
